A Bird in the Hand
by Darklady
Summary: Dianh Lance want's a date for Saturday night. Babs Gordon suggests...Bruce Wayne?
1. Chapter One

A Bird in the Hand  
  
by Darklady  
  
Location: DC Universe... 'Bird' AU.  
  
Rated: G ( Also S for Silly)  
  
PS: Standard Disclaimer. I do not now, and have never, owned any of these characters. DC does. Lucky stiffs.  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
Dinah Lance lay on the bed and snarled at the telephone.  
  
"Read my contract, Barbara."  
  
"Look... Dinah.." A voice of infinite all-be-it strained patience answered from the other end of the line.  
  
"Did I or did I not have a 'date' for last night, which was also Friday night?"  
  
"Yes, but......."  
  
"Did you or did you not call me away from said date?"  
  
"Yes...but....."  
  
"Did or did not I answer said call, standing up said Maxwell Powers, thus directly resulting in my *not* having a date tonight?"  
  
"Yes, but......."  
  
"So? You play, you pay."  
  
"Yes..but........"  
  
"You owe me, Barb. I am *not* one of your Gotham nut-cases, I do *not* have Mr. Chippendales-in-Blue dropping through *my* window, and I do *not* want to spend Saturday night playing Battle-Hamster. I want a date. You have two hours to find me one.  
  
The *snaccck* of plastic echoed as the blond adventuress slammed down the handset. Damn. And her hair was clean. She couldn't even pretend she was staying home to wash it.  
  
*********  
  
*brrring* A slightly chipped phone rang on the nightstand.  
  
"What."  
  
"Dinah? A familiar voice came diffidently over the line.  
  
"Barb? What?" This time the question had an edge to it.  
  
"About tonight. What if..?"  
  
"Forget it." Dinah dropped back on the bed. "I am *not* spending my weekend playing bash-the-mugger with Cassandra Cain or the Bird-Boy or any of the rest of the local flying rodents." She plumped a pillow and leaned against the headboard. " I have been dragged through a jungle, dropped off a cliff, and damn-near nuked . I have been on duty twenty-four seven for three weeks solid. This is my first weekend off in a month. I am damn well going to play."  
  
"OK. OK. I get you." A moments static took the line and then. "Listen. How do you feel about arm candy?"  
  
The blond vigilante laughed. "Always wanted some."  
  
An answer which brought an echoing chuckle from the other end. "No, I mean being."  
  
"Bodyguard duty?" The humor vanished. "Oracle..."  
  
"No. I promise. Look.." The hum of a second link beeped, then faded. "How would you like to go to the Gotham Charity Ball?"  
  
Dinah Lance sat up. "Fancy clothes? Good food? Rich, handsome men?" She grinned. "Sure Barb. What's not to like?"  
  
"Good." A flurry of clicks and hums sounded from the far end of the line. "I'm sending a dress. Be ready in one hour. You're going there tonight with a Mr. Bruce Wayne."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter Two

A Bird in the Hand  
Part 2  
  
by Darklady  
  
Location: DC Universe... 'Bird' AU.  
  
Rated: PG ( Also H for Hunk )  
  
PS: Standard Disclaimer. If I was dating a billionaire I would try and own these guys, but no such luck. Damn.  
  
(Dinah's POV)  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
The dress came early. I was on time. He was late.  
  
Twenty minutes in the hotel lobby with no company but the usual aged magazines and I was ready to kill. The only question was who. This Wayne guy for standing me up, or Barb for setting me up with a guy who *would* stand me up. I had just about settled on *both* when *he* walked through the door. 210 lbs. of well-filled Armanni and blue eyes to die for.  
  
"Miss Lance?" The flash of perfect teeth was damn-near blinding.  
  
"Mr. Wayne?". I hold out my hand, and he actually *kisses* it before helping me up. Wonderful lips. Warm and dry.  
  
He helps me into my coat, and manages just the slightest brush of fingers at the nap of my neck. Incredible. It really does raise goose bumps.  
  
I do not believe this hunk needs Oracle to find him dates. Maybe to keep track of them, but to set him up? Which brings me to a major question.  
  
"How do you know Barb?"  
  
"Miss Gordon?" He blinks a bit, as if trying to place the name. "Oh, she does some research for the company -computer stuff - you'd have to ask Lucias about that. And she used to baby-sit for me."  
  
"You look a bit big for a baby-sitter." But not too big for me, the little voice says.  
  
"No." He blinks again. "My son... Dick Grayson."  
  
Son? "You're divorced?" I ask carefully.  
  
"No."  
  
"My defenses are shrieking 'married man', but he continues.  
  
"I mean - I never married.. I mean, well, Dick is my son.. but he's not *my* son... I mean...he's my ward....or was...but....well, I never quite got around to adopting him....."  
  
I get the idea. So.....no wife to worry about. Good, because I'm not that type of girl.  
  
The car is waiting, and it puts a halt to the conversation my the simple expedient of shocking me silent. I mean, I've ridden in limo's before, but this is the real thing. 1920-something Silver Ghost Rolls-Royce. Gray and glossy and about a mile long, with more polished chrome on one car then you'd see in most dealerships.  
  
The uniformed driver is holding the door, and Wayne waits patiently while I settle into a seat bigger and softer then most sofas. He needs it for those shoulders.  
  
By the time he joins me from the other side I'm breathing again. Which is wonderful, because somehow he has also managed to give this antique that wonderful new-car smell. And I thought *I* knew people with super-powers.  
  
There's a bar - naturally - complete with ice cubes and heavy crystal. He pours me a Zesti, then gets a mineral water for himself. How did he know..? Oh, of course. Barb must have told him. Not that it matters when he has a driver, but I'm still somehow glad that he doesn't drink.  
  
"So, Dinah." He toasts me, and the clear chime of crystal sounds when our glasses touch. "Barbara tells me that you're a 'super heroine?"   
  
He's tones down the wattage, but this smile still warms me clear down to my toes.  
  
"Sometimes." I answer.  
  
"How exciting. I don't believe I've ever dated a meta-human before."   
  
He laughs. He really,actually, has a *musical* laugh. C flat. Incredible.   
  
"I hope you don't mind my calling you that?.  
  
I shrug. "That's all right. I've never dated a billionaire playboy before."  
  
"That I find hard to believe."  
  
My turn to laugh. B sharp. "Believe it. Between private work and the J.S.A. - That doesn't leave a lot of time open for a social life."  
  
Placing my glass and his back on the tray, he takes my hand into his much larger one. It is very warm, and as his thumb brushes my palm I feel my toes curl.  
  
"I know what you mean." he purrs, brushing a bit of hair from my cheek. "So many obligations..." Another smile,and this one at a power level to black out Metropolis. "Well, as long as none of your meta -villain types are due in town, why don't we make the most of it?"  



	3. Chapter Three

A Bird in the Hand  
Part 3  
  
by Darklady  
  
Location: DC Universe... 'Bird' AU.  
  
Rated: PG ( also B for Brooding )  
  
PS: Standard Disclaimer. I don't own any of these characters. DC Comics does. [And Wayne Industries probably owns DC, but you'd have to ask LF about the details.]  
  
(Bruce's POV)  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
Nice. Very nice.  
  
Standing in front of the the Ritz-Gotham, I watch Black Canary rise from the back of the car. She has the perfect movements of the true jujitsu. The perfect legs of a gymnast. And the perfect lack of dress to showcase it all.  
  
If I was...uncertain..when Barbara suggested Black Canary as a solution for Julie Madison's sudden desertion, I was now convinced. Escorting a *known* super heroine would do wonders for Bruce Wayne's somewhat tattered image. Not that Hugo Strange had harmed me *that* badly, but any association with inflatable 'love dolls' was already too much.  
  
"So sorry for the rabble, Dinah." I turn her towards the paperazzi as I adjust her coat. A few good photos would put an end to those rumors.  
  
She takes my arm and all but floats up the red carpet. Not a flyer, but graceful. Very graceful.  
  
I was telling the truth when I said I had never dated a meta before. I think. Selena is genetically human - probably - and Talia?; I may have *married* her, but we never *dated*. Other then those? There aren't that many women in our game, and not that much spare time.Besides, I have always considered it something of a security risk. Perhaps I should rethink that policy.  
  
A few more flashes from the 'authorized' press when we reach the foyer. I wave off their questions. Fox can issue a press release in the morning. It takes them a few seconds to identify Canary, and by the time they are certain we are past the gauntlet and into the ballroom. Which is perhaps a harsher gauntlet.   
  
I hand Canary's coat, then my own, to the attendant at the door.  
  
Unfortunately, the delay makes us vulnerable. Gotham Gertie drops both her current victim and her champagne the minute we clear the door, and is on us before we can get moving.  
  
"Bruce, darling! So good to see you....healthy...again. After that terrible kidnapping."  
  
I sacrifice my cheek to her kiss. From the smell of peppermints, she has been at the scotch again. Bad news.  
  
"And who *is* your little friend? I though dear Julie was still with you?"  
  
I ease between Gertie and the Canary. "Miss Madison was called to Los Angeles." Which is quite enough said. Gertie will not doubt extract a great deal more in the course of the evening - and will unquestionably make up the rest - but for now?   
  
I smile at Canary. "Would you care to dance?"  
  
"Delighted."  
  
A few waves and handshakes see us through the crowd. Here and there I see people I should talk to, but....later. We have reached the dance floor. I place my hand on Dinah's waist, and she glides in close.  
  
The Canary moves as well there as she does in the practice room. Oiled steel. I had always questioned her habit of training in heels, but if it leads to such grace? A wise policy.  
  
The usual slow pop classics. Rathaway would groan, but the band suffices for needs of Gotham's overfed and underexercised 'civic leaders'. These movements are nothing, but the light pressure of her body makes me wonder what she might be like on the workout mat, or somewhere we could *really* dance, or even.... I put the thought from my mind. Very unlikely on a first date. It was sadly more unlikely there would ever be a second. But even so...? I run my palm down her spine and urge her a bit closer. There is no reason I should not enjoy what was here now.  
  
Her head rests on my shoulder and her hair smells of the wind. For a moment, as we glide, I indulge the fantasy of following her on a jumpline over Gotham. Of gliding beside her on the bright thermals over the power plant.  
  
I must have missed a movement, because she looks up.  
  
I smile, and lean back into her warmth.  
  
No. She is to bright for Gotham, and despite her ties to Oracle by tomorrow she will be gone.  
  



	4. Chapter Four

A Bird in the Hand  
Part 4  
  
by Darklady  
  
Location: DC Universe... 'Bird' AU.  
  
Rated: PG-13 for het. sex (implied).  
  
PS: Standard Disclaimer. I don't own the characters. If I did, do you think I would share? Really?  
  
( Dinah's POV)  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
So few men know how to dance. Most either slouch around until you get tired or take it as a chance for a free grope. Bruce danced. Not every dance, but enough to show that he preferred me and music to politics and power-mongering. Not that that should be such a hard choice, but most men I know would go the other way. Instead, he saves our rare breaks for his real friends and the truly interesting.  
  
Two hours into the party, on a night when I should be combat jazzed and edgy, instead I'm having the best time in memory. I spare a thought for 'where does Barb *find* this guy?', then another for 'and why would she share?'. Barb has Mr. Trapeze, of course; but me? I'd keep them both.  
  
The band takes a break, and Bruce somehow produces a Zesti for me from the nearest champagne tray. He's not Zantarra's brother, he's just damn smooth.  
  
"Wonderful party you throw."  
  
His thumb rubs against my palm as he passes the glass. "Too crowded." His smile amps up and his eyes get *very* blue. "I'd prefer something smaller...say...two?"  
  
Ah, The obligatory pass. I start automatically on the obligatory turn down, then....well.....  
  
"That would depend. Which two?"  
  
The clink of crystal acknowledges my wit. And my acceptance. He takes a sip of his mineral water and smiles.  
  
There's a certain sharpness now to those perfect teeth. What did I expect? With his looks and style and cash - of course he's a wolf. Lucky I've always had a fondness for wolves.  
  
He whispers. "We keep an apartment upstairs. Beautiful view of Gotham by moonlight."  
  
Beautiful view of Dinah by night light? I'm no ones fool. I know the lines as well as he knows I know them.  
  
Is this some thrill thing? Does he want bragging rights on a meta, or does he want me? No. If he just wanted tags, he'd have them. Hell, he does. If you trust the Observer. I flip through my list of favorite starlets, and the only ones he *hasn't* had are on TV in black-and-white. But the League? The J.S.A.? Titans? Not a date.  
  
And me? Do I just want the boy billionaire, or do I want *him*? No. If I wanted scalps, I'd have them. Ghod knows I've had offerers . Some polite. Some even moral. But I've always gone for the bad boys. The tough guys.  
  
'And been trashed', the little voice reminds me. Maybe it's time to elevate my tastes.  
  
I smile back, putting some voltage in it. "Could we get there..... discretely?"  
  
Answer enough. He deposits the cups on a passing tray and raises my fingers to his lips.  
  
"I know a back way.."  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
He does. Down a service hall, through the managers office, and finally to a private elevator operated with a palm print. Security plus. Which means he either owns this place or is tight with whoever does.  
  
No entryway. Rich people don't share. This elevator opens directly into an apartment I'd guess to take up a quarter of this floor . At least, that's how much skyline the picture window has.  
  
He leaves the room dark, and the lights of the city and the sky shine in. I can't help being drawn to the vision.  
  
"Beautiful view."  
  
He breath is soft on the back of my ear. "I agree." He's not looking at the window.  
  
Confident hands glide to my shoulder, then my waist. I feel my straps go with them. Firm lips brush my neck, warm and persuasive. I lean back into shoulders broad enough to give the illusion of support.  
  
Is he Mister Right? Who knows. I'm not even certain women like me get a Mister Right. But he feels like Mr. Right-For-Now.  
  
So Bruce is not a genius, or a kung-fu Master, or the Wrath of God Incarnate. He's a nice guy. A *really* nice guy. I think ......I know..... tonight, I need a nice guy.  
  
I turn, raising my face for his kiss. Perfect. He knows how to press, and how to tease. How to lure me past 'I-don't-know' towards 'oh-yes-that' without space or time for doubt.  
  
By the time he whispers "Shall we?" the question is more then answered for both of us.  
  
My "Please" brings out the brightest smile of all. Pure triumph, feral and glorious. But somehow sweet, as if - having won - he's happy to share.  
  
The bedroom is softly lit, and the sheets turned down. Navy satin. Talk about advance planning. Confidence? Or just being prepared? No matter. I admire both in a man.  
  
My fingers tremble a bit on his shirt studs. He has no such problem with my dress. The various hooks and snaps yield as swiftly as I do. He eases me back, and my hands go unthinking to his shoulders as the ice glide of satin strokes against my now bare legs.  
  
Not archer's shoulders, but broad. Very broad, with the heavy bones below muscle that speaks of long-term conditioning.   
  
A deep torso. Flat waist. Serious biceps. Wonderful tan skin, hot and tight, with the faintest hit of spice from the sable curls of his chest.   
  
I let my palms wander in the curves and plains. The glassy edge under my palms surprises me. Ghod knows I've felt enough scars, but on him?  
  
He must feel my surprise.  
  
"I play hard."  
  
So he does. These are an athletes muscles, not the sort bought in a gym. Too agile for weights alone. Too strong for racket-ball. Karate bones. Fencer's arms. Climber's legs. A few more damaged ridges that tease my finger tips. What did he do? Ski an avalanche? I never had much patience for extreme sports, but if it builds a body like this? As his lips come down on my throat I think, 'I could learn'.   
  
Then I don't think at all.  
  



	5. Chapter Five

A Bird in the Hand  
Part 5  
  
by Darklady  
  
Location: DC Universe... 'Bird' AU.  
  
Rated: PG (Also B for Bummer!)  
  
PS: Standard Disclaimer. I do not own the characters. But the characters probably wish I did.   
  
( Bruce's POV)  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
*buzzzz*  
  
Her earring. Not loud, but with Dinah's head on my shoulder I my perception is almost as clear as hers. And I am not asleep.  
  
*buzzzz*  
  
The sound opens my eyes, but it's the shadow on the clouds that accelerates my pulse.  
  
*buzzzz*  
  
Dinah looks up and slaps at her ear.  
  
"Wha..?"  
  
I would speak, but she sees the Batsignal first.  
  
"Shit! Is that..?" She taps at her necklace. "Canary here."  
  
I slide away and leave her to the Oracle. Memo: Advantage to J.S.A. ladies. No need to find a stupid excuse. By the time I am standing she is already looking for her purse and communicator.  
  
She rolls to her feet. "I have to go."  
  
I pick up her purse and hand it to her.  
  
She pulls out a transponder. One of Knight's from the looks of it. "Sorry, Bruce, but...I have a situation....."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"Clothes..." She scans the floor.  
  
Her dress is still in the living room. And hardly suited for combat. I reach into a drawer. "Dick may have left some sweats."   
  
Canary pulls on the black pants and top. Much too large, but they synch at the waist. "Thanks."  
  
She's tapping at her necklace. Linkage to Oracle, I assume.  
  
"Should I call a car?"  
  
"No...My bike and suit will be waiting downstairs."  
  
*Beeeep* A sound from my belt buckle, which is currently on the floor with my pants.  
  
"Pager?" She glances around.  
  
I reach down discretely and click it off. "Probably my security. Warning me to avoid your situation."  
  
She picks up the heels, then discards them. For now, bare feet will be more stable. "Oh.....well...you do that...." She looks at the wide window, then at me. "Bruce? If it's a rumble? You might be safer downstairs."  
  
I nod but say nothing.  
  
Black Canary is halfway to the elevator when she turns. "Take care, Bruce."  
  
"Shouldn't I say that to you?" I answer.  
  
"Hey", she grins as the doors slide open, "I'm a professional."  
  
A gentleman would see her to her bike. With the Batcopter, I can beat her to the fight.  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
Killer moth. Nasty piece of work.  
  
Score is at two legs for me and one Batcopter for him when Black Canary arrives. Good. The insectoid is vulnerable to sonics - which I assume Oracle is aware of. And what Oracle knows, her people know.  
  
With her bike at ground level the buildings offer Canary some protection. Not enough. The motor hum is enough to turn Killer Moth's flight into a sharp dive. Too sharp and too fast.  
  
I line under his thorax to buy time for Canary to get into position. To be effective, the scream will have to be from close range.  
  
Coming over, I get in a clear kick on his left compound eye. That does some damage, but likely not enough. Vision is not his primary sense. He lashes out with a wing edge. Razor sharp. He clips my arm but the glove takes most of it. Barely slices through the kevlar. More of a problem in that he also slices the jump line. I make the roof and roll, but it takes a batarang at close range to ward off the mandibles.  
  
The Black Canary Cries.  
  
I know it because the world goes silent. That means the sound-baffles in the cowl have reacted to the sonics. Good.  
  
Killer Moth twitches, his nervous system disrupted.  
  
I shoot off two more batarangs on a line. They catch and tie the Moths unbroken four legs before he can recover enough to escape.  
  
He jerks again.Likely a second cry. This time the wings collapse into motionlessness. He is unconscious. For now. A colloidal spray net should hold him until a S.T.A.R. Labs team can arrive. Which should be within a few minutes.  
  
Black Canary steps in front of me. I can see her lips move. "Batman?"  
  
I turn off my ear protection.  
  
"Batman? Are you all right?"  
  
Strange question. I follow her gaze to my right gauntlet. Blood. Apparently the Moth got a better shot then I had believed. No matter. I still have full movement, so the cut can not be deep. I say as much, and she nods.  
  
Flashing lights reflect from below. The police have arrived, along with a heavy helicopter with S.T.A.R. insignia. I look at the Canary. "Can you handle this?"I ask.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Do so." I line down from the roof. The Batmobile is waiting. It has been a busy night, and I have a full day tomorrow. Best to go home and get some sleep.  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
A hot shower and a bandage handles most of my aches. Those caused by Killer Moth, at any rate. The slice on my right arm will not require stitches, and my shirt will cover it. Which saves both a call to Dr. Leslie and the need for another story. Not a bad night, all considered.  
  
This is my first time one-on-one with the Canary, and I find her... impressive. Physically spectacular and very inventive. In combat , of course. I focus my thoughts on that. it was an..informative..fight. Quite..memorable.  
  
I drop the towel on the hamper and head for bed. Alfred has left my schedule on the nightstand. Finance Meeting at 10:30, lunch with Lucius Fox at 1:00. I glance at the clock. Just past 4:00 am now. I should still get a few hours sleep.  
  
I pause, then reach for the phone. The shop is closed, but I leave a message. Two dozen roses. Yellow. If Dinah handles the police report, she should be in town until at least noon. Perhaps later.  
  
If she's still in town tonight we could have dinner. Go dancing. Does she tango? Salsa? Would the J.L.A. files say? Surely Dinah plays tennis? Perhaps even racket-ball? I'd have to lose, of course. Still, to watch her move... She moves well. Very well. Amazingly well. Selena has a reputation for ...agility... but Dinah?   
I stretch against a few new muscle aches *not* caused by a giant insect. We could go sailing. Dinah in a bikini is a very pleasant thought. No, it's still a bit cool. She might wear slacks.Perhaps swimming? The garden pool has a nice little jaccuzzi. And it's private. Too early to think of inviting her to the dojo. Not now. Maybe never. Probably never. Still..   
  
As my head hits the pillow, I smile. Not a bad night at all.  



	6. Chapter Six

A Bird in the Hand  
Part 6  
  
by Darklady  
  
Location: DC Universe... 'Bird' AU.  
  
Rated: G (Also W for Wishful Thinking )  
  
PS: Standard Disclaimer. I do not own the characters and am therefore not responsible for any self delusional behavior they may exhibit..   
  
(Dinah's POV)  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
I look at the mirror and check my makeup and ask:  
  
When did I start to fall in love?   
  
It wasn't the flowers waiting for me when I finally got back to my hotel room. Those I frankly expected. I've had flowers before. It wasn't finding my dress cleaned and bagged and hanging in my closet. That's just good manners. It wasn't the hot breakfast at 5 am, although that *was* perceptive of him. Which he is. Perceptive, I mean. He may not be an Einstein, but he is truly sweet and caring, and it comes through when he notices things like that. Most civilians wouldn't even think about the combat-munchies, must less figure out what to do about it. It wasn't even the call from the spa, although the massage was wonderfully welcome on overstrained muscles. Those things are just *things*, and I have been offered *things* before.   
  
The note with the card said 'How about a late lunch?' Nothing new there. When Bruce Wayne called, I accepted impulsively, even though I was busy. But I was *not* in love.  
  
Perhaps I fell a little in love when I picked Bruce up at his office.  
  
He had offered to send a car, but I refused. It was only five blocks, and I *can* walk. I had my bike to restock and my uniform to repair, and frankly no time to sit around a hotel. When I told him that he didn't question me about what I had to do. He said " I'll be in my office when you get here."  
  
Perhaps when that brunette bitch who calls herself a bodyguard damn near invited herself along. He didn't bluster. He didn't fold. He didn't say 'I can take care of myself." Men say those things all the time, and they are usually being idiots. No, Bruce said "I think I can trust Miss Lance to protect me."  
  
Was that it?  
  
Or on our next date? The Gotham Athletic Club. We played handball. I won, naturally, but Bruce gave me a good match. Didn't clown around or slack off because he was playing a women. He made me sweat for every point. And afterwards he said "Great game. Thanks". Thing is, Bruce meant it. Most guys would be in a snit if you knocked them on their ass with a rebound. He saw it as a good shot. And he said so.  
  
Perhaps then.  
  
Or was it at the restaurant? Over dinner, when the topic of the Moth came up, he said: "I saw the fight. Good kick." Turns out we have something else in common. We both are into the martial arts. Which explains his build. Bruce has even been a student of Sensi Ikano. Not in *our* classes, of course. Still, even Ikano's 'casual' students are pretty serious. When I said that, Bruce got all modest. He insisted Lee merely offered him a few classes out of 'obligation'. Family connection there. Seems the Wayne's knew the Reed's back when, so when Ikano surfaced Bruce sponsored him in to the Cincinattus club. "Britt's heir and all that." That made me smile. For all his heartless playboy reputation, when Bruce spoke of Ikano and Britt .... well, that's when I knew he had a romantic side.  
  
Perhaps that was it?  
  
Or was it later, at the dance club, when my beeper went off? It was Alan calling the whole Society back on duty. When I told him I had to go.... Bruce didn't argue. He didn't sulk. He didn't ask 'Will you miss me?' or 'When will you be back?'. He handed me the keys to his Porsche and said "I have a ride." Just like that. No 'here's where to park.' No 'let me drive'. Just "Here".  
  
Perhaps when I got back?  
  
After fighting every Grimm character from every bedtime story Mom *didn't* bother to read me. After being outnumbered and out Generaled and damn-near ass-whipped. When I finally got back to Gotham and I took my ego in both hands and risked a call...Bruce said "Hi. Staying in town?" He didn't preen. He didn't smirk. He didn't pretend that he owned me. He didn't demand to know where I'd been or what I'd been doing. He just said. "It's been a busy two days." and then "Dinner tonight?"  
  
He trusts me.  
  
He is not threatened by my strength.  
  
He is not embarrassed by my talent.  
  
I know it's early. We've just met, and we have so much more to learn about each other. But ... sometimes.. doesn't it happen that way? Don't two people just 'click', and don't they *know*?  
  
The phone is ringing. He must be downstairs now.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter Seven

A Bird in the Hand  
Part 7  
  
by Darklady  
  
Who wishes to state this is *not* Dracoverse. That belongs to Kaylee & company. It is merely that Planet Krypton is not the only restaurant that transcends the laws of hypertime. Aunt Danny Fanny is truly infinite.  
  
Thanks: To Dannell for TTBBQ - because Sarah asked for Barbeque.  
  
Rated: PG (Also V for Voyeur )  
  
PS: Standard Disclaimer. I do not own the characters. DC owns most of them, Dannell owns Aunt DF. If I did own them I would surely respect their privacy more then this. [Yeh! I bet! And don't call me Shirley]  
  
(Barbara and 'Alvin' - just for variety)  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
"Yo' Oracle."  
  
Barbara Gordon looked up as her 'unexpected' visitor rappelled down her living room wall. She *had* caught his approach - but only on her inner bank of cameras. The kid was getting better. She made a mental note to tell Dick that his 'training' weekends with Tim were paying off.  
  
"Hello 'Alvin'."  
  
"Nightwing told me to drop by." The young man in red and green answered as he jumped to the floor.  
  
"I doubt he meant it that literally."  
  
"Whatever." Tim shrugged. "Boss-man wanted us to check the security monitors. Seems Queen Meanie and her crew smashed a bunch and twisted a load more, so Dick and I were supposed to spend tonight putting together a replacement list, but Dick called up and...well.. he *said* he was working late at the station, and the Boss is out on a *date*, so....."  
  
"Let me guess. Dull job + Robin in town = you get stuck."  
  
"Sherlock." The teen pulled a small CD from his vest and spun it over to where Barbara was sitting. "You and me."  
  
"Make that you and I."  
  
Like he hadn't just *said* that, Tim thought. He dropped into a guest chair and reached for the candy dish, Only a few jelly beans left, and those were the black ones, but still.... He popped them in his mouth. He would rather be outside on a line, but if he couldn't..well... He was a growing boy. Which brought up the question of.... "Any brownies left?"  
  
"A few" Barbara smiled. Cassandra had made heavy inroads in the last batch, but there were still some in the freezer. Dick always like a snack after...exertion. But if he wasn't going to be by tonight? Babs considered the point. She could always make some more. Or just serve up chocolate sauce and marshmallow cream. Whichever fit her mood at the time. For now? Robin could have these.  
  
She rolled to the base and dropped in the CD. "Give me a moment to start the program, and you can watch the monitors while I heat up desert." She typed in the code that would run the inspection protocol on each camera in the Bats extensive network throughout Gotham.  
  
Another thought, and she canceled the sub-routine for the suite at the Ritz-Gotham. Bruce had been *on edge* lately, which increased the odds that any date would end there to..well. much too likely when you had a kid on the monitors. She'd leave that until morning, by which time this evenings entertainment would have been safely packed back to her own home. With another click she slotted the Wayne Tower apartment in it's place. If Dick was at work and Bruce was at play? She smiled. No chance of that apartment being occupied. It wasn't *quite* the cave, but almost as exclusive. Only 'family' and real friends got that close to Bruce Waynes *real* life.  
  
She watched the main monitor until the first camera blurred and focused. A second monitor filled with color scales and efficiency graphs.  
  
"OK,Chipmunk." The redhead cranked firmly and spun towards the kitchen. " I've got everything set for a fifteen-second test run. The machine should catch most problems, but you keep an eye on the main screen and tell me if anything looks odd."  
  
Tim glanced at the screen which was displaying a terrifically unexciting expanse of door."No prob."  
  
He watched as the picture shifted to an empty hallway, then to an elevator, then to another door. All familiar, as they were the entry to Bruce's downtown apartment, but likewise all boring. Still. He listened with appreciation to the clank of the refrigerator and the hum of a microwave. If monitor duty meant he got some of Barbara's brownies...well, bored wasn't so bad when he was well fed and bored.  
  
The view shifted again to three views of the living room. A lamp was on. Tim made a mental note to swing by and turn it off if he was in the area. Not that one lamp mattered, but it was still a waste. besides, if he didn't mention it, the lamp could stay on for days.Sometimes nobody went in there for a week.  
  
"You want ice cream?" Barbara's voice echoed from the kitchen.  
  
The camera clicked to the kitchen. Plates on the counter, and the foil lined box from the 'Tyler Texas Pitt BBQ'. Bruce must have had Lucias Fox over for lunch, Tim decided. No one else had rank enough to get the good grub.  
  
"Strawberry?" He answered in a voice just this side of pleading. Barbara knew his weaknesses. No matter. Unlike his *loving* bro, the Oracle would never use that knowledge against him.  
  
"With chocolate sauce and marshmallow cream." came the welcome reply.  
  
The guest bedroom flashed on screen, then the attached bath. Nothing there, but then there never would be. Bruce never opened this apartment for guests. Well, not unless you count that period with Jean-Paul, which Tim - being loyal to Dick - most assuredly did *not*.  
  
The squeak of wheels assured Tim that his favorite snack was forthcoming. He glanced at the door, then back at the cameras which were now in the master bathroom , where there were....towels on the floor? What? Bruce was never that much of a slob, and no one else was allowed to be, so what could....?  
  
The picture shifted again, this time to the far wall other the master bedroom. Another towel, and something bright draped over a chair, and also a...shirt? Wha....  
  
Another click, and the screen caught the same room from the other side. The side that had the bed, and Bruce, and a.... Oh my GHOD!  
  
Tim spun, reaching to kill the program just as Barbara rolled back in from the kitchen,  
  
"What..."  
  
"Sorry" Tim felt the blush rise up his neck. "I didn't ... I mean...." What the hell was he *supposed* to say.  
  
"Oh Shit." Oracles voice was softer then the clatter of the tray and plates hitting the floor. "Dinah."   



	8. Chapter Eight

A Bird in the Hand  
Part 8  
  
by Darklady  
  
Location: DC Universe... 'Bird' AU.  
  
Rated: PG (Also B for Busted )  
  
PS: Standard Disclaimer. DC owns the characters. I do not. Damn shame, that.  
  
(Dinah's POV)  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^]  
  
Bruce is asleep. Snoring slightly. I find it charming.  
  
All that thick dark hair has fallen out of its severe cut. He looks so sweet. So gentle. So innocent. So exhausted.  
  
I brush back a few tickling curls and drop a kiss onto one sharpened cheekbone. He turns, his cheek tucking against my breasts.  
  
The last few days have been hard him.  
  
Not that you could tell from his smile. That was still dazzling. Or from his speech. Still as witty and charming. Or from the way he made love to me. That was every bit as fabulous as I remembered. It was only afterwards, with the bright flame of his eyes veiled, that I noticed the dark patches below them.  
  
My eyes follow the line of fresh bruises on his shoulders. Apparently some of the Queen's minions in Gotham assaulted the Wayne building. They took out the lobby and trashed the glass on the executive levels. Hurt dozens of people, and put ten of them in the hospital. Nothing fatal, thank God. Still, it must have been terrifying up there in the suites.  
  
My poor Brucester.  
  
I make a note to have a word with Miss 'Lock and Load'. If he has bruises like this she is *not* doing her job. Perhaps I should check around and see if anyone competent is available. David Cain, maybe. I hear he's looking for a legit gig.  
  
Lucius Fox may say that woman is working for Bruce, but she's really there for Fox. To make sure that Fox's block of stocks doesn't get kidnapped or waylaid or wander off into his own life when Fox wants him in the office signing papers. Bruce needs someone to take care of him for himself. Someone who understands that he is just *not* the MBA type. Not that Bruce isn't bright enough. He is. But it's a different sort of intelligence, warmer and more personal. More people-centered. More intuitive. Bruce needs someone who understands that. Someone who respects and admires him for what he is, rather then demanding that he change into whatever suits their needs.  
  
Bruce is much too tolerant of such demands. Perhaps it comes from being orphaned so young. He told me how his parents died, and how he was raised all alone in that big house. No friends. No family. Just the butler and his father's medical partner. The very thought twists my heart. Such a sad, lonely life for a child. Most people would have come out of it bitter or self centered. Not Bruce. It just made him gentler with other peoples needs.  
  
Bruce is so *giving*. Sometimes too much for his own good. And I don''t mean in just material ways. In *every* way. Bruce was willing to take me out on the town, even as tired as he was. Now I understand where the playboy image comes from. It's not that Bruce uses women. It's that ambitious women make use of him.  
  
And he's so understanding. Especially of his son. Richard is a police officer in the next town. Such a risky profession. I *know* Bruce worries. I can hear it in his voice. But he never complains. It's what Dick wants. To Bruce, that is more important that what Bruce wants for Dick.  
  
He's always putting others first. Being there for them. Taking care of their needs, their dreams. But who is there to take care of Bruce?  
  
He has actually visited every one of the Wayne Industries employees injured when the Fables forces attacked his building. Even so, he feels guilty that they were hurt. As if he somehow should have stopped her.  
  
Dear Bruce. He did his best. More then anyone else would have even tried.   
  
I bend down to kiss the furrows forming on his forehead. He mutters something. Restless. Even in his dreams he worries.  
  
He has a scratch on one cheek. Claw marks of a vicious fey. And his cheeks are wind burned. Not enough to see, but I can feel the slight roughness on his skin. I trace the line up from his chin and across the bridge of his nose. However did he get a burn like that?  
  
He turns, one long arm reaching out to pull me closer. Long fingers brush my face, and a new roughness scratches my lips.  
  
I glance down. Nasty cut. Healing now, but still... I follow it from his elbow to where is ends abruptly in mid-forearm as if cut off by a glove. A glove???  
  
Flipping on the light, I peer closely at the faintest of lines. Yes. There it is. A faint tan dividing his face like a phantom mask. A mask. Or a cowl. A....?  
  
BASTARD!  



	9. Chapter Nine

A Bird in the Hand  
Part 9  
  
by Darklady  
  
Location: DC Universe... 'Bird' AU.  
  
Rated: PG ( Plus Plain P for Painful )  
  
PS: Standard Disclaimer. DC owns the characters. They alone are responsible for any and all ill-advised and irresponsible behavior exhibited thereby. I am just an innocent bystander, and am *shocked* by Ms. Lance's behavior.  
  
(Bruces's Painful POV)  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
I woke up when my shoulder hit the wall.  
  
It should have been earlier, at the first impact of Dinah's boot to my ribs, but I was frankly exhausted and off my form. As it was, I had barely managed to roll into tani-otoshi when she was back with a beautiful if painful soto-garis.  
  
Dinah was in full Black Canary suit, and clearly in a rage. Somehow, looking at her nomex, I didn't have to ask why.  
  
I spun into kihon and blocked without thinking, rolling to my feet as she fell back onto the bed from the impact. I should have had time to recover, but she transferred straight into a handstand ko-ouchi-gari.  
  
Impressive. I slid back into a defensive kata. She countered a flat-hand punch. I dodged, but it took me off position and opened me for another kick. Good tactics. Unfortunately, I was not entirely in a position of appreciate her ashi-waza, given that I was her current target.  
  
I tried to go high, but she blocked. Her punch-kick missed, but I was forced back into the corner. Not good.  
  
I had no wish to harm Dinah, but she wasn't giving me much room to dodge.  
  
Throwing a pillow, I tried to cheat her back. No luck. She ignored the slight impact and stayed on balance, jumping up into a double kick.  
  
Catching her in flight, I spun us into uchi-mata. A dangerous maneuver. Still, if she would not let me get away, then moving close was the best alternative. Pulling her back into my chest, I dropped us both down.  
  
She elbowed my newly formed bruise and spun for another blow.  
  
I grabbed her foot with one hand, and with the other applied a juji-gatame hold to her arm.  
  
"Enough."  
  
She froze. If looks could kill, she would have buried me. But she would not, any more then I could, and if this was not leading to homicide then it was now wasted energy.  
  
I released her and stepped back.  
  
She said nothing. Merely shot off her jumpline past the window and swung out into the night. Leaving me...alone.  
  
^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^ ^^V^^ ^BC^  
  
I am alone now.  
  
The room is neat again. I placed the towels in the hamper and the leftovers in the kitchen trash. The sheets are changed, and the pillows are back under the bolster. Dinah's abandoned dress is folded on the chair. Tomorrow I will send it to the cleaners, and then I suppose I will give it to Barbara to return.  
  
For all the activity, there is little result. No broken furniture. No cracked paint. Nothing torn or shattered or destroyed.  
  
As for me? A few new bruises,but nothing significant. Nothing more then I might get from a serious training session. A few scrapes and cuts. The damage is not irreparable. At least, not the physical impact. So.. why do I hurt?  
  
*************  
  
OK Bat-Fans! This is the END of _A Bird in the Hand_ ! It may or may not be the beginning of something else. That all depends. How much do you want to see Bruce grovel? And will he? And would it do him any good if he did? I'm sort of stuck, because DC is announcing the return of Green Arrow, and I'm not certain if this means Ollie, or if this will affect Black Canary. But I'm frankly running out of ideas.  
  



End file.
